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A CHRISTMAS PROMISE 


BOOKS FOR YOUNG PEOPLE 


BY 

CAROLINE E. JACOBS 

THE BLUE BONNET SERIES 

Each, one vol., large 12mo, illustrated $1,50 

A TEXAS BLUE BONNET 

BLUE BONNET’S RANCH PARTY 
(With Edyth Ellerbeck Read) 

BLUE BONNET IN BOSTON . 

(With Lela Horn Richards) 

THE COSY CORNER SERIES 

Each, one vol., small 12mo, illustrated $0.50 

BAB’S CHRISTMAS AT STANHOPE 
THE CHRISTMAS SURPRISE PARTY 
A CHRISTMAS PROMISE 

THE PAGE COMPANY 

53 Beacon Street, Boston, Mass. 








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“SURELY THERE SHE MUST FIND SOMETHING” 

Frontispiece 



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A CHRISTMAS 
PROMISE 


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CAROLINE e/jACOBS 

! Author of “ A Texas Blue Bonnet,” “ The 

1 Christmas Surprise Party,” etc. 

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1 Illustrated by 

J JOSEPHINE BRUCE V 

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BOSTON 

THE PAGE COMPANY 

MDCCCCXV 

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Copyright 1907, by 
Churchman Co. 

Copyright 1915, by 
The Page Company 

All rights reserved 


First Impression, October, 1915 



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CHAPTER PAGE 

I Betty Is Troubled i 

II The Promise ii 

III Plotting and Planning . . .15 

IV Joe’s Tree 23 

V Grandfather Pool and the Pullet 27 

VI Fulfilling the Promise ... 42 

VII On Christmas Day 49 

VIII Another Surprise 56 


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PAGE 

“Surely there she must find some- 
thing” Frontispiece 

“The usual mid-day meal” 9 

“Kneeling beside her, betty tried to com- 
fort her” \2 ^ 

“It was their first Christmas” .... 50 \/^ 




/ 


A Christmas Promise 


» 

CHAPTER I 

BETTY IS TROUBLED 


Betty Stood in the doorway looking 
up at the mountains; they seemed very 
near in the clear, frosty air; and — she 
caught her breath — the snow had come at 
last in good earnest. It had seemed to 
Betty, as if it never would come this year. 
Perhaps, even now, down further South 
where Dad was — 

But it was only three weeks to Christ- 
mas, and Dad had promised — Yes, she 

might look for him any day now. And 
1 


2 A Christmas Promise 

Betty went back to her breakfast prepara- 
tions quite cheerfully. 

In the little loft over the kitchen Joe 
and Jim were scrambling into their 
clothes; and from the bedroom, at one 
side, came the sound of an animated dis- 
cussion. 

tell you, Stella ’Vang’line Flynn,” 
a shrill little voice was declaring, ^‘Dad 
promised! Didn’t he say to me — and me 
standing there at the foot of the path, 
and Joe and Jim there to hear him — 
Tou run ’long home, Katie dear, and 
mind what Betty says, and I’ll be back 
come Christmas, and then there’ll be do- 
ings’?” 

But eight-year-old Stella had a streak 
of caution in her, certainly not inherited 
from the Flynn side of the house. 
“Ain’t he never promised that afore, 
Katie?” she asked. 


Betty Is Troubled 3 

“And what if he has?” Katie protested. 
“And maybe they wasn’t just really, truly 
promises — those others.” 

“Then — ” Stella began. 

But Katie waited to hear no more, com- 
ing like a small, indignant whirlwind to 
have Betty button her dress. “Betty,” 
she pleaded, “you think Dad’ll be back 
’fore Christmas — don’t you, Betty?” 

“Sure,” her sister answered; “I’m look- 
ing for him ’most any day.” 

And Katie bobbed her head triumph- 
antly at the unbelieving Stella standing 
in the bedroom doorway. 

But after the children had gone to 
school that morning, and the little cabin 
was in order, Betty’s hopes began to ebb. 

Despite her will, Stella’s question— 
“Ain’t he never promised that afore, Ka- 
tie?” — would ring and re- ring through 
her thoughts. 


4 A Christmas Promise 

Hadn’t Dad been promising ever since 
she could remember — now one thing, 
now another? 

Some day, when he made his strike, 
they would all see! And so indomitable 
was the man’s own hope, his own belief 
in final success, that each time those 
promises had rung true. 

She had believed them, when a child 
of Katie’s age; had believed him this last 
time, when standing in the doorway of 
the little cabin he had said good-by, be- 
fore starting off on this latest prospecting 
trip. 

“Mind, Betty,” he had told her, “I’m 
like to make it this time; luck’s got to 
turn soon; such a Christmas as we’ll have 
then, Betty.” And down at the foot of 
the trail he had met Katie and the boys. 
If only he hadn’t promised them — at 
least, hadn’t promised Katie. 


Betty Is Troubled 5 

Betty’s work-worn fingers bungled over 
the threading of her needle, then, as if in 
regular sequence, came the memory of 
something her mother had said once: 
“You’re not to go blaming him, Betty; it’s 
in the blood of him. Who knows, maybe 
some day he will make his strike? Then 
there’ll be naught too good for you chil- 
dren — and if he don’t — ” 

That had been three years before 
— three years in which Betty had 
been the house mother. It had been the 
same all these three years — would be 
the same next year, and the next, and the 
next. 

Betty’s stitches were far from even just 
then. She knew what they were saying 
down there in the camp — about a man 
who only worked long enough to provide 
his family with the barest necessities dur- 
ing his absence, and then was off for 


6 A Christmas Promise 

months at a time, prospecting; leaving a 
parcel of children to look after them- 
selves. 

Betty sprang up; she would finish 
mending the jacket another time. She 
would run down to the store. Perhaps 
there might be a letter. Dad had sent a 
letter once. 

But there was no letter; and it seemed 
to Betty as if all the women in the little 
mining camp had chosen this particular 
morning to do their shopping in. 

^‘Good-morning, Betty,” one after the 
other said; and more than one added, 
“Father home yet?” 

They were all, Betty told herself, buy- 
ing something for the coming Christmas ; 
the place was full of the scent of the 
raisins and spices. Mrs. Daly was buy- 
ing for her mincemeat. And right in the 
center of the store stood a great box of 


Betty Is Troubled 7 

Christmas goods, just opened. Mrs. 
Clew was bending over it, choosing a doll 
for Nelly. 

Betty ran out of the store and back up 
the trail home. She would not cry — the 
children would be back to dinner before 
long. 

They came in before she had finished 
setting the table. ‘‘Betty,” Katie cried, 
hopping excitedly about the room, “Sally 
Martin says they’re going to have a tree; 
so I just told her we was, too.” 

“Yes,” Stella took up the story, “Katie’s 
been going ’bout bragging how we’re go- 
ing to have the finest Christmas in camp 
— just’s if ev’ry one didn’t know we never 
have any.” 

“Stella!” Betty cried, hurt as much by 
Stella’s unbelief as by Katie’s too fervent 
faith. 

“Didn’t I tell you, Stella ’Vang’line 


8 A Christmas Promise 

Flynn,” Katie broke in, “that this year — ” 

“But Katie, darling,” Betty interposed, 
“Dad never meant that we were to have a 
really grand Christmas.” 

There was more than a touch of red in 
Katie’s thick thatch of curls. “ ’Liz’beth 
G’raldine Flynn,” she exclaimed fiercely; 
“don’t real Christmas ‘doings’ mean a 
tree?” 

“Sometimes, Katie.” 

“And nuts?” 

“Well — mostly.” 

“And candy?” 

“I — reckon so.” 

“And presents?” 

“I suppose so. But, Katie,” Betty 
stooped to put her arms about the child, 
“maybe Dad won’t make the strike this 
trip. Why, Katie, perhaps he won’t be 
able to get back. Darling, you won’t be 
too disappointed if — ” 



M 


(4 


THE USUAL MID-DAY MEAL 




Betty Is Troubled 9 

“Yes, I will. You needn’t go thinking 
I won’t, Betty!” 

And Betty turned away to fill four 
bowls with the hot soup which, with 
bread, formed the usual mid-day meal. 

She waited to eat her own dinner until 
the children had gone back to school ; and 
as she ate it, Betty wondered what she 
ought to do. Should she let Katie go 
blindly on, believing in that Christmas 
which, through Betty’s fourteen years, 
had always seemed just ahead of her, like 
some veritable will-o’-the-wisp ; or would 
it be wiser to — 

Betty pushed her bowl aside, and lean- 
ing her chin in her folded hands stared 
with troubled eyes at the tumbled, snow- 
capped peaks beyond. Katie wasn’t 
strong — and she had so set her heart on 
this; it wouldn’t matter quite so much 
with Stella and the boys; they were older 


10 A Christmas Promise 

and — different. The doctor himself had 
said that Katie wasn’t strong — that they 
must be careful of her. 

If only Dad would come; and when 
old Ponto, asleep behind the stove, stirred 
uneasily, Betty ran to the window, half 
hoping, half expecting to see her father 
coming up the trail. 


CHAPTER II 

THE PROMISE 


x^HRISTMAS came on Friday that 
year. On Monday afternoon Katie came 
rushing in from school, her whole little 
body quivering with excitement. 

’Liz’beth G’raldine Flynn!” she 
cried ; ‘‘do you know that there’s only two 
trees left down at the store?” 

“Where’s Stella, Katie?” Betty asked, 
fencing for time. 

“I ain’t talking ’bout Stella. Just two 
trees left. Dear me, Betty, why ain’t you 
starting, right off?” 


11 


12 A Christmas Promise 

“Katie, darling, I haven’t — any money 
to buy trees with.” 

“Dad’ll pay for it when he comes.” 

Betty bent over her stocking basket; it 
took a long time to find the pair she 
wanted. 

Katie watched her in silence for a mo- 
ment; for the first time something of 
doubt crept in to undermine the child’s 
confidence in that coming Christmas; 
suddenly, she threw herself down on the 
floor in a perfect passion of tears. 

Kneeling beside her, Betty tried to com- 
fort her; “Katie, darling. Dad will be 
here — oh, he must, Katie; and anyway, 
you shall have your Christmas, Katie, I — 
promise it.” 

Katie looked up, a ray of hope bright- 
ening her small, tear-stained face. Betty 
never broke promises. 

“You see, dear,” Betty gathered the 



“ KNEELING BESIDE HER, BETTY TRIED TO COMFORT 


HER 





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The Promise 13 

forlorn little figure in her arms, “it 
wouldn’t do to begin too soon; but, of 
course, if Dad doesn’t get here — I — I’ll 
have to keep his promise for him.” 

“And you’ll see ’bout the tree right 
now?” 

“I can’t to-night, dear.” 

“Can’t you send Joe soon’s he comes 
in?” 

Betty rubbed her cheek against Katie’s. 
“Listen, darling; half the fun of Christ- 
mas is in the not knowing about things. 
You don’t want to ask, or try to find out 
about what I’m doing, else you won’t 
have the fun of being surprised when 
Christmas comes.” 

Katie nodded comprehendingly. “I — 
I won’t ask ’nother single thing; and I’ll 
tell Stella not to, and the boys.” She was 
up and off on the instant to meet and cau- 
tion the rest. 


14 A Christmas Promise 
Betty watched her go, an anxious look 
in her gray eyes. just had to promise,” 
she said, slowly; “and now IVe got to 
keep it some way.” 


♦ — » 

CHAPTER III 
PLOTTING AND PLANNING 

Betty,” Joe said the next morning, 
finding her alone in the kitchen, “what’s 
wrong?” 

Joe was twelve, and he had much of 
Betty’s habit of accepting the responsibil- 
ities of life. Betty had long ago made 
him her chief counselor. Now, as she 
stirred up the griddle cakes for breakfast, 
she told him of the difficulty she was in. 

Joe whistled. “How much tin can you 
scrape together?” he asked. 

And Betty stopped to count, just as if 

15 


16 A Christmas Promise 

she had not counted and recounted her re- 
sources since yesterday afternoon. The 
smallness of the sum she named made Joe 
whistle again. “I say,” he began. 

“Please don’t say it,” Betty implored, 
^or I — I’ll cry right into the batter; and 
I’m afraid it’s too salt now.” 

Joe laughed. “Oh, I reckon you’ll 
weather us through somehow.” 

His very confidence in her seemed to 
make Betty’s burden weigh heavier. She 
kept up a brave front, however, until the 
last child had gone to school; then, right 
in the midst of dish-washing, she flung 
herself face down on the old lounge, and 
cried her heart out. 

At which Ponto, who was nearly as old 
as Betty herself, and had been playmate, 
friend and protector as long as they could 
both remember, grew nearly desperate. 
He had done his best at comforting, re- 


Plotting and Planning 17 

monstrating, pleading, had thrust his cold 
black nose in under the hands covering 
Betty’s face; and at last, finding all else 
fail, he planted his forefeet firmly on the 
lounge and, throwing back his head, 
howled dismally. 

It was such a comical combination of 
sympathy and personal woe that Betty’s 
sobs ended in a hysterical burst of laugh- 
ter, whereupon Ponto wagged his tail de- 
lightedly. 

Betty put her arms about the dog’s 
neck, and looked wistfully down into the 
wise old eyes. “Ponto, you think Dad’ll 
be back soon?” she asked. 

Ponto blinked gravely. 

“You’re not sure? Then, Ponto, I’ll 
have to go ahead and manage some way, 
won’t I?” 

Ponto wagged. 

“I reckon if we want to have things 


18 A Christmas Promise 

very much we just have to do them,” 
Betty decided, as she went back to her 
dish-washing. 

The water was cold and the fire down ; 
by the time things were in working trim 
again Betty was humming softly to her- 
self. All at once she remembered that it 
was a tune her mother had been used to 
sing; and bit by bit the words themselves 
came back to her: 

‘‘Once in royal David’s city 
Stood a lowly cattle shed, 

Where a mother laid a baby 
In a manger for His bed; 

Mary was that mother mild, 

Jesus Christ, her little child.” 

Betty stood quite still a moment, her 
hands over her eyes; not praying, hardly 
thinking — only feeling sure, in some inde- 
finable way, that the One who had come 
as a child to that lowly stable, on that first 


Plotting and Planning 19 
Christmas, so long ago — to the stable that 
could not have been much more lowly, 
more humble than this little hillside cabin 
— would help her to make Christmas for 
these other children, who wanted it so 
much. 

Betty went about her work bravely, but 
very thoughtfully, for the rest of the 
morning. 

Joe didn’t come home to dinner; and 
there was an air of mystery about the 
three other children that promptly roused 
Betty’s curiosity, as it was meant to 
do. 

‘‘Only you can’t know yet, Betty,” Ka- 
tie warned her. 

“It isn’t mischief, Betty,” Stella added 
reassuringly. 

“Betty,” Katie followed her sister into 
the pantry, “he — Dad’ll have to get here 
soon — to be in time.” 


20 A Christmas Promise 

‘‘Oh, there’s heaps of time yet,” Betty 
declared; “two whole days and a half.” 

As soon as the dinner things were 
cleared away Betty went into the little 
cold best room, where, in one corner, cov- 
ered with a shawl, stood the old flat trunk 
that fifteen years before had come out 
from that mysterious “back East,” about 
which her mother had loved to tell. 

The trunk and its contents were Betty’s 
own; her father had given them to her 
soon after her mother’s death ; and to the 
girl there was something almost sacred 
about the few simple treasures her mother 
had held so dear. 

The thought of the trunk had come to 
Betty that morning — surely there she 
must find something. 

And presently, she had laid aside a 
little shell-covered box for Stella, who 
could be trusted to be careful of it; a 


Plotting and Planning 21 

String of tiny sea shells for Katie, tied 
with a bit of faded pink ribbon; her 
mother’s old third reader, in its worn 
calico cover, for Jim; and for Joe, the 
scrap-book Mrs. Flynn had made when a 
girl. 

Betty drew a quick breath of relief; to 
have made a beginning was something; 
the coming Christmas began to take defi- 
nite form. 

On Christmas Day they would have a 
fire in here in the open fireplace. “And 
Ponto,” Betty had gone back to the 
kitchen shivering with cold. “I’m going 
to make a pudding! Most likely there’ll 
be the ‘Company’s turkey,’ but this year 
there are going to be fixings besides.” 

She got her mother’s old recipe book ; to 
make the whole rule was out of the ques- 
tion, or even one-half. She was figuring 
up the cost — supposing she reduced the 


22 A Christmas Promise 

rule to thirds — when a shout outside sent 

her hurrying to the window. 

Coming up the trail were the four chil- 
dren, Joe in front, the smallest of those 
two last Christmas trees over his shoulder. 


♦ — 

CHAPTER IV 

— *• 


joe’s tree 



That Christmas tree required expla- 
nation, and the two boys began to explain 
at once. 

‘‘You see,” said Joe, “I — ” 

“It’s Joe’s,” cried Jim. “He — ” 

“It’s Betty’s, too,” maintained Jim, 
“ ’cause she — ” 

“Yes, but you — ” 

“Gracious me, boys,” interrupted Betty, 
while the two little girls jumped up and 
down with excitement, “can’t one of you 
keep quiet and let the other talk? Bring 
23 


24 


A Christmas Promise 


the tree into the house, and then, Joe, you 
tell me all about it.” 

And so, while Betty gazed happily at 
the tree, Joe told the story. 

After all, there was not fnuch to tell. 
He had felt that he must help Betty to 
keep her promise, but had not known just 
what to do. After school he had, with 
the other children, drifted down to the 
store to gaze at the Christmas fixings. 
Little Katie had begun to cry when she 
saw that there was only one Christmas 
tree left, and then and there he had made 
up his mind that in some way he would 
get this last tree. 

Just then Mr. Carlin, the storekeeper, 
came up, and asked them in his most busi- 
nesslike manner if they desired to make 
any purchases. Mr. Carlin’s smile was 
so friendly that, before Joe knew it, he 
was telling him all about the Christmas 


Joe^s Tree 


25 


that Betty had promised them, and how 
he wanted to surprise her with a Christ- 
mas tree, but had no money to buy it. 

Perhaps Mr. Carlin was touched at the 
wistful glances of the little group; per- 
haps he thought of his own children; at 
any rate, he had told Joe that if he wished 
he could work the rest of that day in the 
store, and as his pay he could take home 
the tree. This was why Joe had not come 
home to dinner, and this was why the 
three other children were so excited and 
so mysterious, and this was why the four 
of them had trooped home so happily car- 
rying the tree with them. 

After supper was eaten and the table 
cleared, Betty started again to figure on 
the receipt for the wonderful Christmas 
pudding that she planned. 

She usually had time to herself after 
the little girls had gone to bed, and while 


26 A Christmas Promise 

the boys were studying their lessons; but 
that night Stella and Katie were so ex- 
cited that they declared they could not 
“sleep a wink,” and wanted to sit up and 
talk over the wonderful Christmas which 
Betty had promised them. 

Finally, in despair, Betty offered to tell 
them a story, if they would promise to go 
to bed quietly and go to sleep “quick” as 
soon as she was finished. 

Katie promptly climbed into her lap 
and demanded that she should tell 
“Mother’s Story” of Great-grandfather 
Pool and his pullet. 

In vain Betty protested that she had 
told that story so often that Katie knew it 
by heart. Still Katie persisted, and 
finally Betty gave in and began the story 
that their mother had once told them of 
one Christmas “back East” when she was 
a little girl, and, as always, Betty tried to 
tell it in her mother’s own words. 






CHAPTER V 

GRANDFATHER POOL AND THE PULLET 


GrRANDFATHER POOL was a very 
tender-hearted man, and next to his love 
of children was that of animals. 

There used to be a season in the vil- 
lage which was called ^‘killing-time, ” — 
a few weeks in December when the fatted 
cattle, hogs, and poultry were killed. 
The neighbors used to gather from house 
to house on the occasion of such annual 
slaughters, but the parson was never seen 
among them. If he were riding at this 
season and heard one of his neighbor’s 


27 


28 A Christmas Promise 

pigs squeal on being run down by the 
butcher, he would put the reins between 
his knees, and clap both hands over his 
ears, and hold them there tightly. 

“Mary,” I once heard him say, after 
such an experience, “it does seem to me 
that there is something wrong in the 
make-up of this world ; but then,” he 
added, “I ought not to say anything, — I 
like a piece of fresh pork myself some- 
times.” 

The people generally remembered the 
parson at “killing-time,” and generously 
sent him spare-ribs, turkeys, and geese. 
He was so well provided for with poul- 
try at this season by others, that he was 
never known to kill any of his own. 

“I wouldn’t kill a chicken,” he used to 
say, “if I had to live on corn bread all 
the year. I sell all my poultry to the hen- 
cart.” 


Grandfather Pool and the Pullet 29 

Just what the hen-cart man did with 
the parson’s poultry, the good man never 
cared to investigate. 

Grandmother Pool was a person of dif- 
ferent fiber. At ‘^killing-time” at the 
parsonage, she went round with her 
sleeves rolled up, ready for the fray. 

Parson Pool liked to raise poultry. 
He would often bring up a large brood 
of chickens by hand, and his flock of 
hens would follow him about the farm 
whenever he went out to walk. In the 
summer afternoons we used to go up on a 
hill together, which commanded almost 
as fine a view of the Green Mountain 
walls and the bald summits of Washing- 
ton and Lafayette as does the Bald Moun- 
tain itself. Then we would sit down and 
watch the shadows of the clouds on the 
pine-covered mountain sides, as they 
sailed along like ghosts of the air. When 


30 


A Christmas Promise 


Grandmother Pool asked us where we 
were going, as we set out for these excur- 
sions, he would often answer, ‘^Hens’ nest- 
ing” 

A mania had spread over the country. 
It was called the ^^hen fever.” It 
reached at last our village. Several peo- 
ple became the possessors of Cochin 
China and Shanghai hens, and among 
them was a brisk young farmer by the 
name of Campbell. 

Just after Thanksgiving this young 
man summoned Parson Pool to marry 
him. He paid the old man two dollars 
in money, and promised to make him a 
present of a Christmas dinner, which he 
assured him should be ^^a surprise.” 

On the day before Christmas young 
Campbell called at the parsonage, and 
fulfilled his promise. It was a surprise 
indeed, — a Shanghai chicken of aston- 


Grandfather Pool and the Pullet 31 

ishing weight, and seemingly fabulous 
length of neck and legs. 

“Here, parson,” said he, setting the 
pullet down on the kitchen floor, “IVe 
brought you something for your Christ- 
mas dinner. Big as a turkey, ain’t it? 
Legs almost as long as yours, parson, and 
a neck like as it was going to peek over the 
meetin’ hus’ into the graveyard. Did you 
ever see the like of that?” 

The chicken ruffled its feathers, and 
walked about the kitchen very calmly, 
lifting high its feet in a very dignified 
way. 

“ When this you see, remember me,’ 
parson,” said the lively young man, quot- 
ing provincial poetry. “You will have 
him on the table to-morrow, won’t you, 
parson?” 

“Yes; but, but — ” 

The old man held out a piece of bread. 


32 


A Christmas Promise 


The pullet walked up to it like a child, 
and swallowed it so fast that it choked 
desperately. 

“But what, parson?” 

The pullet wiped her bill on grand- 
father’s dressing-gown, which seemed to 
please him greatly. 

“But I would kind o’ hate to cut her 
head off.” 

“Is that so, parson? Well, I’ll save 
you the trouble. You just let me take 
your hatchet, and I’ll — ” 

“No, no,” said grandfather, with a dis- 
tressed look, “I’ll attend to the matter. 
I’ll attend to the matter. I always was 
kind o’ chicken-hearted, myself.” 

After the young man left, grandmother 
came upon the scene, with a resolute look 
in her face and her cap borders flying. 

“Samuel!” 

“Well?” 


Grandfather Pool and the Pullet 33 


“I want you to cut that chicken’s head 
right off, right off now, so that I can have 
it to bake for breakfast to-morrow. 
Who do you think is coming to spend 
Christmas with us? Sophia, — Sophia 
Van Buren, from Boston. She spent the 
summer at the Crawford House, and 
came to the mountains again in October. 
But now that the hotels are closed, she is 
coming here.” 

“What is she coming for?” asked 
grandfather, with a distressed look at the 
chicken. 

“To see Mount Washington covered 
with snow. She is an artist; she exhibits 
pictures in the art rooms in Boston. She 
is my second cousin.” 

“When is she coming?” 

“This very afternoon, in the Ossipee 
stage. So just take that great fat chicken, 
and off with its head just as quick as you 


34 


A Christmas Promise 


can, and I will get the feathers out of the 
way in half an hour.” 

“But I never killed a chicken in my 
life, and I would rather hate to hack the 
head off of such a fine-looking bird as 
that.” 

“Won’t she brown up well?” said 
grandmother. 

“Rebecca, that fowl loves to live just 
as well as you do. Just think of it, when 
the day-star rises to-morrow and the cocks 
crow, she — ” 

“Will be dead and baked in the larder,” 
said Grandmother Pool. 

“And when the sun rises and the other 
fowls are enjoying the sunlight — ” 

“You will be eating one of the best 
roast chickens you ever tasted. Here she 
is,” added grandmother, catching up the 
plump pullet and handing her to Grand- 
father Pool, who looked as though 


Grandfather Pool and the Pullet 35 

he had been called upon to execute a 
child. 

Grandfather Pool went out with the 
pullet, which did not seem to manifest 
any concern. I followed. He went to 
the woodhouse where the chopping-block 
was, and sat down in an old arm-chair, 
in the sun. The woodhouse was open in 
front, and the chopping-block stood in 
the opening. 

^‘Are you really going to do it?’’ 
said I. 

“I wish one of those Old Testament 
miracles would turn that pullet into a 
chopping-block, for she has said it must 
be done, and nothing but a miracle will 
ever save the poor thing.” 

Grandfather Pool rose up and laid the 
chicken on the block. He measured the 
distance with the hatchet. 

“Oh, let me run,” said I. 


36 A Christmas Promise 

“I am not going to do it yet,” said he. 
“When I do, I shall measure the distance 
so, with my eyes open; then I shall shut 
my eyes tight, chop her head off quick, 
and throw her away, and shall not open 
my eyes until she is as dead as a stone. 
Now you run away,” he added, with a 
grim smile. 

I ran to my room. It looked out on 
the woodhouse. At first, I drew the cur- 
tain so as not to see the awful sight; but, 
finally, I peeped out, to see if the deed 
was done. 

A most remarkable sight met my eyes. 
Grandfather Pool stood by the block on 
which the pullet was laid, measuring the 
distance to strike. He then shut his eyes, 
brought down the hatchet strongly, and 
threw the pullet away. What was my 
astonishment to see the fowl jump up and 
run across the meadow into the hemlocks. 


Grandfather Pool and the Pullet 37 

Grandfather stood like a statue, with 
closed eyes, waiting for the pullet to ex- 
pire. I think he stood in this position 
some five minutes, when he ventured to 
look slowly round. 

There was nothing to be seen but the 
chopping-block. 

He walked around it, and then sur- 
veyed the yard. I never saw such a look 
of astonishment as came into his face. 

Presently I heard a shrill voice cry, — 

“Samuel, ain’t that chicken ready 
yet?” 

Then I heard him say, — 

“Rebecca, come here.” 

“Where is the pullet, Samuel?” 

“I chopped her head off, when she van- 
ished right into the chopping-block. It 
is a punishment for my sins. I never 
thought it quite right to kill innocent ani- 
mals for food.” 


38 A Christmas Promise 


“Samuel, have you lost your senses? I 
am not a fool. You never cut that pul- 
let’s head off in this world. It stands to 
reason you didn’t; there isn’t a drop of 
blood on the block.” 

“Rebecca, I have never told a lie. I 
tell you the truth : I cut that pullet’s head 
off; the hatchet went clean through her 
neck, when she vanished head and all, — 
went right into the chopping-block!” 

“Split open the block and you will find 
her, then.” 

Grandfather took up the broad-axe, 
severed the chopping-block in the mid- 
dle, and examined it carefully as it fell 
apart. 

“There is no pullet there,” said he. “I 
feel like Balaam. I’ve read of such 
things in books.” 

“What things?” 

“Supernatural things, — miracles, like.” 


Grandfather Pool and the Pullet 39 

“Well, I don’t believe in them.” 

“What’s come of that pullet, then?” 

“Didn’t you fall asleep over the chop- 
ping-block, and some one steal her?” 

“Rebecca, you know that there isn’t a 
person in this whole town who would 
steal a hen from me in the night, to say 
nothing of broad daylight. What’s the 
use of arguing against the supernatural? 
Just as soon as I had cut her head off, I 
let go of her, and expected she would flut- 
ter and leap up into the air, just as pullets 
do when other folks kill them. Instead of 
that she never made a sound, but turned 
right into that there chopping-block, and 
never left so much as a drop of blood or a 
feather behind.” 

“It is very mysterious.” 

“Very.” 

Just then the sound of wheels was 
heard, and the Ossipee stage stopped be- 


40 


A Christmas Promise 


fore the little red cottage, and Miss Van 
Buren, all fluffs and furbelows, appeared. 
As soon as I was alone with grandfather 
he said, — 

‘‘Dearie, you know what has hap- 
pened; don’t tell your grandmother that 
rash wish of mine.” 

“What wish?” 

“What I said to you before the pullet 
vanished, — that she might turn into a 
chopping-block.” 

I had intended to tell him what I had 
seen, but a mystery had a charm for me 
even in childhood. I disliked to spoil 
such a famous -story as this was sure to 
become, and when my conscience began 
to trouble me, I stifled it by reflecting that 
to explain the matter too soon would 
cause the capture and death of the pullet. 

The next day, a wonderfully mild 
Christmas in that region, grandfather. 


Grandfather Pool and the Pullet 41 

Miss Van Buren, and myself, went up the 
high hill to get a view of the mountains. 
The air was very still, only a low murmur 
at tim.es in the tops of the pines. 

There were hunters in the woods be- 
low us, and from time to time the crack 
of a rifle would cause us to stop to listen 
to the echoes. As we returned, I hurried 
ahead of grandfather and Miss Van 
Buren, and gained the highway some 
minutes before them. 

A wagon. was passing, full of hunters 
and game. Out of one of the game bags 
hung the head of a noble bird; my eyes 
recognized it with astonishment, — it was 
Parson Pool’s Christmas pullet. 


CHAPTER VI 


FULFILLING THE PROMISE 


After the rest were in bed that even- 
ing Betty and Joe held council. Thanks 
to Joe, the tree, at least, was a blessed cer- 
tainty. 

‘Tt’ll have to be trimmed,” Betty said; 
once, several years before, she had gone to 
town with her father at Christmas time, 
and seen the gaily trimmed Christmas 
trees in the store windows. “There 
ought to be lots of little candles,” she said. 
“Joe, we’ll cut some big ones down — 
they’ll make more, too, that way; and I 
remember mother telling how they used 


Fulfilling the Promise 


43 


to string cranberries for the Sunday- 
school trees. I can get some to-morrow. 
Oh, Joe, a tree and a pudding! It will 
be Christmas, won’t it?” 

As early as possible the next morning 
Betty was off down the trail to the store. 
On the steps she met Joe. “I say, Betty,” 
he cried, ‘‘Carlin says I can stay on 
through the week— and take it out in 
goods — beforehand 1” 

“Joel Do you think — I’d love a doll 
for Katie!” 

“Sure!” Joe answered. 

Fortunately, the assortment of dolls was 
not large, else might Betty’s other shop- 
ping have been long delayed. 

“But ain’t you going to take one for 
Stella?” Mr. Carlin asked, as at last 
Betty made her choice. 

She shook her head regretfully. “I’d 
love to, but — and Stella is eight.” 


44 ^ Christmas Promise 

Mr. Carlin picked out the brown-eyed 
mate of the blue-eyed doll, laying it on 
the counter. “Got time to dress two 
dolls?’’ he asked. 

Betty’s face flushed. “Oh!” she cried. 
And she made her other purchases in such 
a state of joyous bewilderment that Mr. 
Carlin was able to slip in various small 
additions of his own, right under her very 
nose, without her finding it out. 

Betty went back up the trail almost as 
fast as she had come down. Once home, 
she spread her purchases out on the 
kitchen table, with a little sigh of delight 
at her own daring; and more than one 
quick cry of pleasure at sight of the store- 
keeper’s contributions. 

When the children came home at noon, 
though everything seemed as usual, there 
was an unmistakable Christmas atmos- 
phere in the little place. 


Fulfilling the Promise 45 

Katie noticed it first. ‘‘Something’s 
happened,” she confided to Ponto. “I 
dare say you know what ’tis — but I’m not 
going to ask, and Stella ’Vang’line shan’t, 
neither.” 

After dinner, Betty made her pudding, 
and when it was in the oven, and was fill- 
ing the kitchen with its spicy fragrance, 
she gave her attention to the dolls. 
Dressing dolls was a new experience, but 
she was a capable little body and she had 
her mother’s machine. In the trunk she 
found a little white ruffled apron — that 
would make the dresses beautifully — for 
the other things she went to her scrap- 
bag. 

Betty’s thoughts keeping time to the 
soft, busy whirr of the machine, were 
decidedly happy ones that afternoon — it 
was all turning out so wonderfully well. 

With the first sound of the children’s 


46 A Christmas Promise 

voices outside, she hid her v^ork away. 

Joe came home late, treasure-laden. 
He had a bunch of narrow colored tapes, 
a half roll of red crepe paper, rather 
shopworn, and a small spray of holly — 
gleanings from his clearing up down at 
the store. 

And while Betty strung her cranber- 
ries Joe cut the crepe paper into long, 
narrow strips to be used in trimming the 
tree. 

The next morning Betty was giving the 
finishing touches to the dressing of the 
dolls when Mrs. Daly came panting up 
the path. “I declare,” she said, sinking 
into the chair Betty brought forward, ‘‘it 
is a climb up here. See here, Betty” — 
from under her shawl Mrs. Daly pro- 
duced a basket — ^‘IVe brought you young- 
sters up one of my mince pies and a few 
other things. Jim says you’re planning 


Fulfilling the Promise 47 

to keep Christmas, but ’tain’t to be ex- 
pected that a child like you can get ’round 
to everything. You keep your place nice 
— that’s sure. No, you needn’t empty the 
basket. Jim can fetch it home some 
time.” 

“I can’t begin to thank you,” Betty 
said, gratefully. 

“Well, I don’t ’want you should try.” 
Mrs. Daly rose. “I can’t stop now; I’ve 
a heap of work waiting — I only wish I’d 
a girl like you, Betty.” 

After Mrs. Daly had gone, the boy 
came with the “Company’s turkey,” and, 
closely following him, the children. 

“I bet we’ve got the nicest turkey of 
them all,” Katie said, prodding it in care- 
ful imitation of Betty. 

It was at supper that night that Betty 
announced that all except herself were to 
hang up their stockings. “Mother used 


48 A Christmas Promise 

to when she was a little girl back East,” 
she explained; “she told me so.” 

And so, before Joe went back to the 
store, four long, lank stockings were hung 
solemnly in a row back of the kitchen 
stove,, to be sniffed at wonderingly by 
Ponto. 


CHAPTER VII 

ON CHRISTMAS DAY 


*'BeTTY! oh, Betty!” Katie called. 
‘‘Are you awake, Betty?” 

Betty murmured something drowsily; 
it was so early, and she was so sleepy and 
tired. The next thing she knew Katie 
was creeping in beside her. “Betty,” she 
insisted, excitedly, “maybe Dad’ll get 
here before we’re up and dressed — he’s 
got to come to-day, Betty.” 

And Betty resigned herself to the in- 
evitable. 

Joe was down and building the fire by 


so 


A Christmas Promise 


then, and Jim was calling to them that if 
they didn’t hurry out he’d look at their 
stockings, and even Stella was sitting up 
in bed and beginning to put on her things 
impatiently. 

“I say,” Jim called, ‘^there’re five stock- 
ings here now !” 

The fifth one was for Betty. ‘‘Much 
too old you are!” Joe told her now, as she 
stood staring at it. And indeed, Betty 
did not look very old, as she curled herself 
up on the lounge, her stocking in her lap. 

Very simple the contents of them all — a 
few nuts and raisins, a stick of candy, a 
red apple, and down in the toe of each 
one small gift. But they were Christmas 
stockings, and it was Christmas morning 
— and, above all, it was their first Christ- 
mas. 

“But not our last,” Joe said, determin- 
edly, and Betty, running her little string 



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On Christmas Day 51 

of blue beads through her fingers, nodded 
agreeingly. 

Stella had found a new red ribbon in 
the toe of hers ; Katie, her necklace of sea 
shells; the boys, a little neck bow of 
bright plaid. 

Betty glanced from Katie, sharing her 
stick of candy with Ponto, to one and an- 
other of the little group; only one wish 
was yet unfulfilled ; but Betty was enough 
a Flynn to tell herself that the day was 
not over yet. 

At breakfast, where for a special treat 
they all had a cup of coffee and some of 
Mrs. Daly’s doughnuts, it was decided to 
have the tree right after their mid-day 
dinner. ^^So’s Dad’ll be sure to be in 
time,” Katie said, voicing the unspoken 
thought of the others. The morning 
passed, and even Betty had given up 
hope, when Katie, standing with her face 


52 


A Christmas Promise 


pressed close to the window, gave a cry 
of joy. “He’s coming! He’s coming! 
There’s Skip!” 

The next moment she was racing down 
the trail, followed by all but Betty, who 
simply could not leave her gravy at that 
particular moment. But she was at the 
door when her father reached it. 

“My!” Flynn stared about the little 
kitchen. In the center stood the table, 
laid as elaborately as Betty’s slender re- 
sources would permit; with a dish of ap- 
ples and oranges in the center, sprinkled 
over with a thin layer of nuts and raisins. 
On the stove stood the turkey, filling the 
room with its fragrance ; and on the little 
stand, borrowed from the bedroom, was 
the pudding and Mrs. Daly’s mince 
pie. 

“My!” Flynn said again; then his blue 
Irish eyes filled, for the table was set for 


On Christmas Day 


53 


six; and the old armchair, at the head, the 
familiar knife and fork, told their own 
story of faith and expectation. 

“But you can’t go in there — yet ” — 
Katie pointed to the half-open door of the 
best room, through which came the soft 
gleam of candle light. “Betty — she’s man- 
aged ev’rything like she thought you’d 
want her to.” 

“She’s,” Flynn began, “you’re all of 
you, youngsters to be proud of. Looks 
like we couldn’t have a much finer layout, 
if we was multimillionaires.” 

The dinner was a great success; and 
afterwards came the tree, and that, too, 
was a great success; those cut ends of 
tallow candle shining out among the 
branches bravely. 

“Was ever anything so pretty!” Katie 
sighed, looking up at it with wondering 
eyes. And when her father, who played 


54 


A Christmas Promise 


master of ceremonies in the jolliest way 
possible, handed her down her doll, Ka- 
tie’s little face quivered with surprise and 
joy. 

There was a present on that tree for 
each one of them; for Katie and Stella 
more than one. 

‘Well,” Flynn said, at last, as they 
gathered about the fire, Katie in Betty’s 
lap, “you see I did get here, same’s I 
promised — and it hasn’t been easy, has it 
Skip?” 

Skip, stretched out before the fire in 
lazy comfort, wagged sleepily; he and 
Ponto had already exchanged stories, and 
Skip was of the opinion that on the whole 
Ponto had had the best of it. 

“I have lots to tell you later,” Flynn 
went on; “but,” he added mysteri- 
ously, “I have some business that I 
must attend to now; so you children 


On Christmas Day 55 

will have to wait until I get back.” 

Of course, the little family was disap- 
pointed that he could not stay with them ; 
but they spent a happy afternoon over 
their presents, and were really surprised 
when evening came on, and with it 
brought their father. 


CHAPTER VIII 

ANOTHER SURPRISE 


Supper was over quickly, and then, 
to the surprise of the children, Mr. Flynn 
told them to put on their wraps, as he 
wished them to make an evening call with 
him. There was a merry twinkle in his 
eye and his tone was very mysterious, but 
he refused to answer any questions. 

Soon the whole party was ready to 
start. Their father led the children 
straight to Mr. Carlin’s. The store was 
in darkness, but Mr. Carlin’s own house 
was brightly lighted. Before they could 
knock, the door was opened by Mr. Car- 
56 


Another Surprise 57 

lin himself, smiling and beaming on the 
little group. 

Mr. Flynn looked at him inquiringly 
and Carlin, with a chuckle, answered 
mysteriously that ‘ 4 t was all ready.” 
The children were told to remove their 
wraps and were then ushered in state into 
the parlor, where, lo and behold, stood a 
huge Christmas tree groaning under its 
weight of presents. 

There was a wild shout of surprise, 
and Betty turned shining, questioning 
eyes on her father. 

“Yes, daughter,” said Flynn, answer- 
ing the unspoken question, “I have made 
my strike at last, and I, too, am keeping 
my Christmas promise.” 

Mr. Carlin interrupted to explain 
laughingly how Mr. Flynn had inter- 
rupted him in the midst of his own 
Christmas dinner and insisted that the 


58 A Christmas Promise 

store should be opened. The Christmas 
tree had been borrowed for the occasion 
from Mrs. Daly, who had had her own 
Christmas festivities in the morning; the 
store had been raided and ransacked; and 
the ladies of the settlement, with the awk- 
ward and enthusiastic assistance of Mr. 
Flynn, had selected the presents and deco- 
rated the tree. 

What did each child get? That is a 
natural question; but it is very hard to 
answer. The Flynn children had been 
ill-clothed, and their playthings were but 
few, so that there was much that could be 
given them, and I believe that nothing 
was missing. Warm dresses and shoes 
and stockings for the girls ; and warm suits 
and shoes and stockings for the boys. 
Hair ribbons and neckties, hats, caps, 
coats and cloaks, until each child had an 
entire new outfit. 


Another Surprise 59 

Then came the toys; dolls and dolls’ 
dresses and dolls’ furniture, picture books 
and playthings of every kind and charac- 
ter for the girls, and skates, and tops and 
marbles and more books and more play- 
things for the boys. It really looked as 
if Santa Claus’s whole pack had been 
emptied on and under that wonderful 
tree. 

But, best of all, was the news that Mr. 
Flynn told Betty when they were once 
more at home, and the younger children 
had been put to bed, and he and she were 
sitting together before the open fire with 
her hand clasped in his, and her head 
against his shoulder. He told her of his 
final struggle for fortune and of his suc- 
cess; how, for weeks and weeks, there 
was only failure, but that finally the strike 
had come. 

That there would be no more want and 


6o A Christmas Promise 

no more struggle, and no more trying to 
care for the family on the pitiful sums 
of money which he had been able to pro- 
vide. That he was wealthy, as wealth 
was considered by them. And then he 
made a new Christmas promise — that a 
good, capable woman should take care of 
the house and relieve Betty of the drudg- 
ery which she had borne so bravely, and 
that every Christmas there would be a 
celebration in memory of the way Betty 
had kept her Christmas promise. 


THE END 


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A tender and appealing little story. 

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No introduction is needed to Dickens’ masterpiece, 
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A CHILD’S DREAM OF A STAR 

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A delightful story of a little boy who has many advem 
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The story of a household elf who torments the cook 
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Who Were the Little Colonel’s Neighbors. 

In this volume the Little Colonel returns to us like an 
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The truest portrayals of child life ever written.” — 

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CICELY AND OTHER STORIES FOR GIRLS 

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In this story Mrs. Johnston relates the story of Dago, 
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B-4 


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A LITTLE PURITAN^S FIRST CHRISTMAS 

A story of Colonial times in Boston, telling how Christ- 
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A LITTLE DAUGHTER OF LIBERTY 

The author introduces this story as follows : 

“ One ride is memorable in the early history of the 
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A LITTLE PURITAN REBEL 

This is an historical tale of a real girl, during the time 
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The scene of this story is laid in the Puritan settlement 
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A story of Boston in Puritan days, which is of great 
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A PURITAN KNIGHT ERRANT 

The story tells of a young lad in Colonial times who 
endeavored to carry out the high ideals of the knights of 
olden days. 


THE PAGE COMPANTS 


By CHARLES G. D. ROBERTS 

THE CRUISE OF THE YACHT DIDO 

The story of two boys who turned their yacht into a 
fishing boat to earn money. 

THE YOUNG ACADIAN 

The story of a young lad of Acadia who rescued a Uttle 
English girl from the hands of savages. 

THE LORD OF THE AIR 

The Story of the Eagle. 

THE KING OF THE MAMOZEKEL 

The Story of the Moose. 

THE WATCHERS OF THE CAMP-FIRE 

The Story of the Panther. 

THE HAUNTER OF THE PINE GLOOM 

The Story of the Lynx. 

THE RETURN TO THE TRAILS 

The Story of the Bear. 

THE LITTLE PEOPLE OF THE SYCAMORE 

The Story of the Raccoon. 


By JULIANA HORATIA EWING 

THE STORY OF A SHORT LIFE 

This beautiful and pathetic story will never grow old. 
It is a part of the world’s literature, and will never die. 

JACKANi^ES 

A new edition, with new illustrations, of this exquisite 
and touching story, dear alike to young and old. 

A GREAT EMERGENCY 

A bright little story of a happy, mischievous family 
of children. 

B— 6 


BOOKS FOR YOUNG PEOPLE 


By FRANCES MARGARET FOX 

THE LITTLE GIANT^S NEIGHBOURS 

A charming nature story of a “ little giant ” whose 
neighbors were the creatures of the field and garden. 

FARMER BR0WN"'AND THE BIRDS 

A little story which teaches children that the birds are 
man’s best friends. 

BETTY OF OLD MACKINAW 

A charming story of child life. 

BROTHER BILLY 

The story of Betty’s brother, and some further adven- 
tures of Betty herself. 

MOTHER NATURE»S LITTLE ONES 

Curious little sketches describing the early lifetime, or 
“childhood,” of the little creatures out-of-doors. 

HOW CHRISTMAS CAME TO THE MUL- 
VANEYS 

A bright, lifelike little story of a family of poor children 
with an unlimited capacity for fun and mischief. 

THE COUNTRY CHRISTMAS 

Miss Fox has vividly described the happy surprises that 
made the occasion so memorable to the Mulvaneys, and 
the funny things the children did in their n^w environ- 
ment. 


By LILLIE FULLER MERBIAM - 

JENNY’S BIRD HOUSE 

A charmingly original story for the little folks. In the 
guise of a fairy tale it introduces many interesting facts con- 
cerning birds and their ways. 

JENNY AND TITO 

The story of how Jenny crosses the big ocean and spends 
a summer in old Provence, which is in France, you know, 
and of how she finds the little lost dog Tito, who finally be- 
comes her very own pet. 

B— 7 


THE PAGE COMPANY'S 


By WILL ALLEN DROMGOOLE 

THE FARRIER^S DOG AND HIS FELLOW 

This story will appeal to all that is best in the natures 
of the many admirers of her graceful and piquant style. 

THE FORTUNES OF THE FELLOW 

Those who read and enjoyed “ The Farrier’s Dog and 
His Fellow ” will welcome the further account of the ad- 
ventures of Baydaw and the Fellow. 

THE BEST OF FRIENDS 

This story continues the experiences of the Farrier’s dog 
and his Fellow. 

DOWN IN DIXIE 

A fascinating story of a family of Alabama children 
who move to Florida and grow up in the South. 

By OTHER AUTHORS 

THE KING OF THE GOLDEN RIVER: 

A Legend of Stiria. By John Ruskin. 

Written fifty years or more ago, and not originally 
intended for publication, this little fairy tale soon became 
known and made a place for itself. 

A CHILD’S GARDEN OF VERSES 

By R. L. Stevenson. 

Mr. Stevenson’s little volume is too well known to need 
description. It will be heartily welcomed in this new 
and attractive edition. 

RAB AND HIS FRIENDS 

By Dr. John Brown. 

Doctor Brown’s little masterpiece is too well known to 
need description. The dog Rab is already known and 
loved by all. , 

JOE, THE CIRCUS BOY 

By Alice E. Allen. 

A tender little story about an orphan boy, and of the 
good fortune that befell him through his devotion to the 
trick dog of the circus. < 

B— 8 


BOOKS FOR YOUNG PEOPLE 


THE LITTLE COUSIN SERIES 

(trade mark) 

Each volume illustrated with six or more full page plates in 
tint. Cloth, i 2 mo, with decorative cover, 
per volume, 6o cents 

LIST OF TITLES 


By Mary Hazelton Wade, Mary F. 
Nixon-Roulet, Blanche McManus, 
Clara V. Winlow, Florence E. 
Mendel and Others 


Our Little African Cousin 
Our Little Alaskan Cousin 
Our Little Arabian Cousin 
Om Little Argentine Cousin 
Our Little Armenian Cousin 
Our Little Australian Cousin 
Our Little Austrian Cousin 
Our Little Belgian Cousin 
Our Little Boer Cousin 
Our Little Bohemian Cousin 
Our Little Brazilian Cousin 
Our Little Bulgarian Cousin 
Our Little Canadian Cousin 
Our Little Chinese Cousin 
Our Little Cuban Cousin 
Our Little Danish Cousin 
Our Little Dutch Cousin 
Our Little Egyptian Cousin 
Our Little English Cousin 
Our Little Eskimo Cousin 
Our Little French Cousin 
Our Little German Cousin 
Our Little Grecian Cousin 
Our Little Hawaiian Cousin 
Our Little Hindu Cousin 
B— 9 


Otir Little Hungarian Cousin 
Our Little Indian Cousin 
Our Little Irish Cousin 
Our Little Italian Cousin 
Our Little Japanese Cousin 
Our Little Jewish Cousin 
Our Little Korean Cousin 
Our Little Malayan (Brown) 
Cousin 

Our Little Mexican Cousin 
Our Little Norwegian Cousin 
Our Little Panama Cousin 
Our Little Persian Cousin 
Our Little Philippine Cousin 
Our Little Polish Cousin 
Our Little Porto Rican Cousin 
Our Little Portuguese Cousin 
Our Little Russian Cousin 
Our Little Scotch Cousin 
Our Little Servian Cousin 
Our Little Siamese Cousin 
Our Little Spanish Cousin 
Our Little Swedish Cousin 
Our Little Swiss Cousin 
Our Little Turkish Cousin 


THE PAGE COMPANY’S 


THE LITTLE COUSINS OF LONG 
AGO SERIES 

The publishers have concluded that a companion series 
to “ The Little Cousin Series,” giving the every-day child 
life of ancient times will meet with approval, and like the 
other series will be welcomed by the children as well as 
by their elders. The volumes of this new series are accu- 
rate both historically and in the description of every-day 
life of the time, as well as interesting to the child. 

Each small 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated . 60c 

OUR LITTLE ROMAN COUSIN OF LONG 
AGO 

By Julia Darrow Cowles. 

OUR LITTLE ATHENIAN COUSIN OF LONG 
AGO 

By Julia Darrow Cowles. 

OUR LITTLE SPARTAN COUSIN OF LONG 
AGO 

By Julia Darrow Cowles. 

IN PREPABATION 

OUR LITTLE MACEDONIAN COUSIN OF 
LONG AGO 

OUR LITTLE CARTHAGINIAN COUSIN OF 
LONG AGO 


OUR LITTLE 
LONG AGO 

THEBAN 

COUSIN 

OF 

OUR LITTLE 
LONG AGO 

VIKING 

COUSIN 

OF 

OUR LITTLE 
LONG AGO 

NORMAN 

COUSIN 

OF 

OUR LITTLE 
LONG AGO 

SAXON 

COUSIN 

OF 


OUR LITTLE FLORENTINE COUSIN OF 
LONG AGO 

B— 10 


Selections from 
The Page Company’s 
Books for Young People 


THE BLUE BONNET SERIES 

Each large 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated, per 
volume $1.50 

A TEXAS BLUE BONNET 

By Caroline E. Jacobs. 

“ The book’s heroinp, Blue Bonnet, has the very finest 
kind of wholesome, honest, lively girlishness and cannot 
but make friends with every one who meets her through 
the book as medium.” — Chicago Inter-Ocean. 

BLUE BONNET’S RANCH PARTY 

By Caroline E. Jacobs and Edyth Ellerbeck Read. 
“ The story is both pretty and unhackneyed in its sim- 
plicity, and is as unlike the ordinary tale of Texas as any- 
thing to be imagined.” — The Living Age. 

BLUE BONNET IN BOSTON; Or, Boarding- 

School Days at Miss North’s. 

By Caroline E. Jacobs and Lela Horn Richards. 
Blue Bonnet enters a Boston boarding-school in this 
volume, and though she finds it rather hard to conform 
to the rules and regulations, her breezy, generous and 
impulsive nature soon makes her a favorite at the select 
school. 

B— 11 


THE PAGE COMPANY'S 


THE YOUNG PIONEER SERIES 

By Harrison Adams 

Each 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated, per 
volume $1.25 

THE PIONEER BOYS OF THE OHIO; Or, 

Clearing the Wilderness. 

“ Such books as this are an admirable means of stimu- 
lating among the young Americans of to-day interest in 
the story of their pioneer ancestors and the early days of 
the Republic.” — Boston Globe. 

THE PIONEER BOYS ON THE GREAT LAKES ; 

Or, On the Trail of the Iroquois. 

“ The recital of the daring deeds of the frontier is not 
only interesting but instructive as well and shows the 
sterling type of character which these days of self-reliance 
and trial produced.” — American Tourist, Chicago. 

THE PIONEER BOYS OF THE MISSISSIPPI; 

Or, The Homestead in the Wilderness. 

“ The story is told with spirit, is full of adventure and 
will prove one of the most popular contributions to the 
literature of those days when bold pioneers paved the 
way to the present settlement and civilization of the 
Middle West.” — New York Sun. 

THE PIONEER BOYS OF THE MISSOURI; 

Or, In the Country of the Sioux. 

“ Vivid in style, vigorous in movement, full of dramatic 
situations, true to historic perspective, this story is a 
capital one for boys.” — Watchman Examiner, New York 
City. 

THE PIONEER BOYS OF THE YELLOW- 
STONE; Or, Lost in the Land op Wonders. 

This new story tells of the adventures of the Pioneer 
Boys with the Lewis and Clarke expedition, and of how 
they were lost in Yellowstone Park. 

B— 12 




























